


Enlightened

by FleshDust



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dark, Feeding, Gender Neutral, Horror, Insanity, Lovecraftian, Madness, Mutilation, No Sex, Other, POV First Person, Psychological Horror, The Deadlights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleshDust/pseuds/FleshDust
Summary: In the deadlights, I am home.





	Enlightened

The lights are love, and the lights are hate. They are infinite photons of desire, loathing, rage, joy and every sensation that has ever flowered in a sentient organism, only to then divide into countless emotional permutations, each of them so beautiful that I want to weep until my body dries and cracks like ashes in the wind, and so horrible that my mind wants to eat itself from the inside out, smacking and chomping with little orange teeth made of shiny, jagged glass.

The lights cradle me and feed me my bitter horror and sugary milk from the breast of my mother, both of which I swallow with eager gulps. The lights oscillate around me with countless arms, stroking me like a lover, whispering like a friend, reprimanding me like a father. Here, I am whole, and here, I am home.

Gravitational singularities wheel above me, dancing little specks of infinite violence. I can hear the pained cries of collapsing stars and the growling of eternal beings, sleeping, cloaked in dark dreams and magnificent nebulae. I feel the birth pangs of an infant universe born every nanosecond.

Sometimes, I see glimpses of the world outside the lights, the world I once belonged to. So small, so fetid, so sad. A tower built out of the refuse of lives long since savaged, dark and dank and stinking. Toys and clothing, rotting and falling apart. Bicycle, old and rusted, squeaking wheel. I am above this world now, circling it, pitying it.

A hand brushes my thigh, and the lights let me smile when I see that the hand does not have an owner. Exanimate, torn off. Gray fingers, lonely. I mumble sweet words to console it as it drifts by in this strange orbit that we all follow. I hear it respond kindly, dead fingers twitching a little. It seems like the most natural thing in the world, talking to this severed body part in our infinite cosmos of terror and serenity.

There are others in the light. Some are pieces, like the hand. Some are no longer alive. Some are like me, caught in this cruel stasis of peace. Their minds, like mine, are beyond sanity and insanity. Content and waiting in the orange glow that matters more than anything else in our insignificant past lives. It’s beautiful.

It took me I don't know how long to realize that one of my legs was missing. There's just a meaty stump left, wiggling a bit below the junction of my thigh. Sometimes, little tendrils of blood slip out of it, floating upward like ink in water, defying gravity while the lights cackle at their own power.

Yet, I am not dead, just a little bit mutilated, but it's beautiful, too. Sometimes I remember flashes of losing my leg. There were countless teeth like pearly needles, gnawing on it, and beyond the teeth the lights swirled, soothing me and making me laugh with delight and agony and horror so black that my insides wanted to shatter. I remember skin and muscle being torn and eaten, veins getting caught between the teeth like wet noodles. A flash of white and red and jingling bells and then gentle, silk-gloved hands allowing me to ascend into orbit again where I continued to admire the mysteries of existence.

My leg is savaged, the bone gnawed off and gone. The sad white pipe of my femur is peeking out from the wet maroon gore, arrested in time, allowing me to live when I should have bled out. But it's a little funny, too. The white and red of the wound reminds me of the jingling bells and makes me happy.

I orbit for a while longer, I have no idea how long. Hours, days, years? Eons?

I am slowly brought back again when the teeth return to me. The soft, gloved fingers fish me out of my reverie and I am a little bit annoyed until I realize that the hands belong to the master of the lights.

It’s the light, and it's the darkness.

It's peace, it's war, it's God, and it is the Devil.

A dark voice murmurs in my ear in a language that reaches beyond the known universe and into unhinged realms that no human mind is capable of comprehending. I smile warmly and invite the creature of light to continue its meal. It does so, and the lights flare in my field of vision, they flare inside of me, outside of me, blotting out the world and even the fleeting memories I once had of it.

I feel claws and teeth tear into my belly and gouge out innards and organs, warm blood welling, the blood from my liver shining nearly black. I laugh joyously as I feel myself fading, dying.

As long as I am embraced by the lights, I don't mind dying even as I feel my body start to cease to function. They cradle me. They are my mother, my father, my friend, and my lover. I die as I feel claws carving at my spine to retrieve the marrow. The lights feed me my own agonizing death and as I fade away and back into the stardust from whence we came, I thank them for the horrific beauty that I have known.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write dark-ish things when a bit stressed. This is what my brain produced this time. The idea started with a quote from the 1990 miniseries:
> 
>  
> 
> _"I looked right into its deadlights. And I wanted to be there."_


End file.
